A Sorta Fairytale
by Beautiful Shiny People
Summary: As the story goes, a prince wanders into the woods and finds this dead girl. He kisses her and she comes back to life, they live happily ever after. Well Dean's not a prince, and Castiel really isn't a dead girl.
1. Once Upon a Time

_Once Upon a time..._

It's a warm summer that blankets the town of Lawrence; parents watch as their children dance through sprinklers, dogs chase cats, bugs drift lazily through the sticky air. All in all, very Americana.

Dean stares out of the window, his hand cupping his chin while he tries to swallow down tears that threaten to push their way to the surface. The caravan of cars trails behind the Impala, all bearing the flags for a funeral. He watches as people pause in their daily activities to give the long line of cars a solemn nod, or maybe to herd their children inside.

His father is stiff beside him, letting a soft sob go only after a moment before becoming silent again. Sam sniffs in the backseat, his head buried in Jess' blonde hair. She holds Sam's hand tightly, her face stoney as she tries to be the strong one in their relationship.

Dean's eyes flicker away from his younger brother to the rolling scenery outside of the window.

()()

They lower his mother into the ground; the priest drones on about the after life 'From dust we come, to dust we shall return' or some such shit that isn't comforting to Dean at all. Everyone is quiet, and it's driving him _insane_! His mother would have cracked a joke, tried to get everyone to smile or maybe even roll their eyes, but she's too busy being buried six feet under.

The crowd starts to disperse afterwards; they're going to their cars to head to the Singer residence for refreshments and a whole mess of awkward condolences. Dean remains sitting on the hard aluminum seat, his hands in his lap while Sam tries to shake him from whatever trance he's in. The older Winchester stands, ignoring his brother in favour of running to the patch of woods surrounding the graveyard.

Sam starts toward his brother's retreating form, but a small hand on his shoulder causes him to stop. He looks to Jess who's dabbing at her eyes with a tissue; she shakes her head, sliding her hand down his arm so they can twine their fingers together. "Let him go, babe, he needs some time."

()()

His legs scream at him to stop, and his heart pounds loudly in his head, but Dean Winchester is a stubborn bastard, so he continues. His nice suit pants are speckled with mud, and his dress shoes are scuffed from running on sticks and rocks; he slows his run to a jog, then to walk, his breath coming out in heavy pants. The trees get thicker as time passes, and Dean's pretty sure he's lost until he comes upon a clearing with the remains of a building.

A frown dips the corner of his mouth as he approaches the crumbling stones; grass shoots up between the fallen stones and shards of rose coloured glass poke up from the ground. Dean takes a closer inspection of the cracked and fading stained glass window, and raises an eyebrow. _Why the hell is a church out in the middle of nowhere?_

He walks closer, a hand running down the pitted stone of the building. Something feels strange about this place, but he can't put his finger on it. Maybe it's the grief talking, but Dean walks closer to the dark inside, ducking under a nearly rotted wooden board covering the doorway.

Sunlight streams through holes in the walls and dusty stained glass windows; beams of light fall on crooked pews and dusty rugs, candle sticks are knocked to the ground, and music sheets look like they're growing mould. Dean sneezes as dust settles into his nose, he shakes his head, mentally chastising himself for exploring ruins like some six year old.

He stands at the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Dean grimaces at the chaotic mess the inside of the church is in, and he's about to turn to return to his family until his sweeping gaze falls onto something that looks like a mannequin. He frowns in confusion, glancing from the doorway to the mannequin until he decides to take a look.

The mannequin is laying on top of the alter table, appearing as if it's laying in a pile of black feathers. Its arms and legs hang off the sides and end of the table, looking as if it's about to be offered to Satan or some other crap teenagers are getting into. It's skinny, and pretty detailed with jet black hair and a bit of stubble lining a square jaw. Dean thinks about dumping the thing off the table until its abdomen rises and falls with a deep breath.

He jumps back, a shout of surprise leaving his lips as he falls onto the closest pew. Dust flies into the air, causing Dean to choke and cough. He stands again, moving closer to the mannequin, prodding it with a finger. His mouth falls open as the thing feels warm to the touch, and frantically Dean feels for a pulse on the mannequin's(?) skinny neck.

There's a soft fluttering under his fingers, barely detected but still there. Dean watches for the rise and fall of the person's chest, and panics when it doesn't move. "Oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck..." Dean glances around the messy church before licking his lips and planting them onto the chapped ones of the other man's. He breaths into the immobile mouth, hoping that this will jump start the man's breathing so he can get the hell out of there.

The closed eye lids flicker, and Dean watches as they flutter open to reveal etherial blue eyes.

He pulls back, stumbling backward but managing to keep his footing as the other man slowly sits up. Dean's eyes widen as the pile of feathers are connected by muscle and bone to the man's back; a white hand comes up to rub at an equally pale forehead, and a pink tongue comes out to sweep across parched lips. Blue eyes lock with shocked green, and the man cocks his head to the side, a slightly confused expression flitting across a previously dead face. "...hello."

_Not long afterward she opened her eyes, lifted the lid from her coffin, sat up, and was alive again._

* * *

><p><em>SNOW WHITE. This is why I shouldn't be allowed to watch season 5 and 6 while colouring Disney Princess colouring pages. <em>


	2. Though I feel like a necrophiliac

_"Oh, heavens, where am I?" she cried. The King's son, full of joy, said, "You are with me," and told her what had happened, and said, "I love you more than everything in the world; come with me to my father's palace, you shall be my wife."_

Dean blinks rapidly, his vision swimming as he swears he's going to have a heart attack. The man stares at him while one hand seems to be checking his body for any damage, focusing mainly on the giant freaking _wings_ attached to his scrawny frame; thin white fingers smooth over bent feathers while blue eyes stare owlishly into forest green. The man finally blinks, glancing over his shoulder at a particularly bent feather, a small frown playing at the corner of his mouth.

Dean takes a deep breath, prepared to be calm and rational. Of course he can explain why a man (angel? What the hell, this day couldn't get any worse.) seemed to wake up from a nearly comatose state after Dean's mouth barely made contact with his. Yeah, happened all the time, just talk to _Snow freakin' White_. Instead of the calm rationality he had hoped for, something resembling a squeak tumbles gracelessly from the eldest Winchester's mouth.

The man's dark eyebrows furrow, and he cocks his head again. The frown that had come to his mouth because of a bent feather now turns to a frown of confusion. "...do you not speak?" Blue eyes flit away from Dean's, and a concerned looking expression crosses briefly over the man's face. "Where was I sent? I thought Father had given humans the gift of speech..."

Dean shakes his head, finally snapping out of his shocked reverie. "Whoa whoa whoa. Hold up." The man looks back at him, his concerned expression quickly washing off his face, leaving a blank slate. "What the hell is going on?"

The man's face morphs into confusion; he hops off the table, wings wrapping around his body protectively as he wobbles slightly on his feet. Dean watches as the man lifts his hand to his lips, the pads of his fingers running lightly over the chapped skin. "You were able to break the binding enchantment on me..." Blue eyes flicker up to him while the man begins to pace slowly. "Did you not do it on purpose?"

Dean shakes his head, holding up his hands defensively as the man fixes him with a suspicious glare. "No man, I was just trying to help!" The man sighs softly and runs a hand through his already messy black hair. He gazes at the dirty ground, toeing at a mouldy bible. He's quiet for a moment until suddenly, a hand flies up to smack Dean in the middle of his forehead. A blinding white light flashes before Dean's eyes, and a shock of electricity shoots down his spine, causing a rather disgusting gurgling noise to be produced from the green eyed male.

The hand pulls back; Dean nearly collapses on top of the man, his breath coming out in wheezing gasps. His eyes try to focus, and hand comes up to rub at his forehead; the skin is cool underneath his fingertips. "W-what the hell?"

The man shrugs a skinny shoulder, his eyes fluttering as a light pink flush comes to his pale cheeks. "I had to make sure that you were not possessed." A soft, pleased sounding sigh comes from the winged man. "I am glad that you are not."

Dean straightens, his hand pausing in its massage of his forehead. His expression changes from confused anger to annoyed amusement. "What? Like possessed by a demon?" He lets his hand drop to his side, giving the man a once over. Although there are giant black wings coming from the man's boney back, Dean doesn't feel ridiculous when saying: "Sorry to break it to you, but I don't believe in that shit."

The church falls silent, eerily so as the man fixes Dean with a disapproving gaze. A frown dips the corner of his mouth, and his blue eyes suddenly seem endless and cold. There is a sort of air about the man that causes Dean to suddenly feel like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "You're a blasphemer…" The man whispers lowly; his wings seem to puff up around him, and it seems like he's trying to appear larger than he is. It reminds Dean of the birds on Animal Planet; this thought causes him to snort in humour. An expression of anger flashes briefly over the man's face, and the feathers almost stand of end.

Dean coughs to cover his laughter; he glances around the empty church, at the overturned pews, cracked stained glass windows, to the table where the man had been laying. "…so umm, what's your name? Mine's Dean." He offers his hand for the man to shake, but receives a glare instead.

"…Castiel."

Dean huffs, kicking at the dust on the ground. He notices that the light is growing darker, meaning that he's been gone from the funeral longer than he should have been. "Well, c'mon, we're gonna go."

Castiel blinks, seeming to forget his anger for a moment in light of his confusion. "Excuse me?"

Dean turns from the man, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants. "We're going back to my house, Cas. C'mon."

()()()

_Tired…so tired. Enjoy this chapter._


End file.
